


Hit and Run - Part Three

by withoutaplease



Series: Hit and Run [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is slightly less of an asshole, F/M, Language, Mention of drinking, Smoking, all life choices still questionable., discussion of suicide attempt (Reader), mention of anal sex, smut including squirting, these characters are not eighteen yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 11:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20929430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: Summary: Reader’s locked out on a cold night, but there’s a light on in her neighbour Billy’s window.Note: This is a timestamp series based on my drabble, Cherry Lane.Additional notes: This part will seem a bit familiar if you read Cherry Lane, hopefully I haven’t bored you.  Please heed the warnings - I’m bringing in the feels, but that means bringing in the heavy subject matter.





	Hit and Run - Part Three

_February 3, 1985_

Your mother, the beacon of tender nurturing that she was, chose the coldest night of the year to make good on her promise to lock the deadbolt if you missed curfew. Drunk, and pulling futilely at the front door, you almost admired the cruelty of it. You didn’t think she had it in her. You gave the door one last yank, then kicked it with the toe of your boot and stepped back to think. The most obvious answer was to ring the doorbell and hope she didn’t have it in her after all. Endure a few minutes of auditory torture, repent, and then you’d be free to go to bed. Or, she could just stay in bed herself, and let you suffer until morning. You didn’t feel confident.

You thought of the basement windows, and hoped one of them was unlocked and unfrozen. You went down the front stairs and checked the closest one. Sure enough, it was locked. As was the one next to it, and the one after that. You huffed, and jammed your hands into your jacket pockets. Even with a bellyful of bourbon, you were really starting to feel the cold. You looked around, thinking some more, and soon your eyes landed on a lamplight in a window down the street. Billy’s bedroom window. Suddenly, now seemed like a great time for a visit.

Your steps crackled noisily through the shallow crust of snow, and you tried to tiptoe as you neared the house. You hurried into the shadow of some scruffy shrubs near Billy’s corner, and crept slowly up to the window. It was half-open, and you held still, listening. Nothing. “Billy!” you whisper-yelled. “Are you in there?” Still nothing. Not ready to give up, you picked up a chunk of gravel from the ground and tossed it through the window. You heard a soft crash as a stack of cassettes fell over, and cringed.

“What the fuck?” you heard Billy say, followed by some shuffling. 

“Sorry!” you called. “It’s just me.”

“Y/N?” He appeared in the window, shirtless and hair mussed like he’d been sleeping, or something. 

“Shit, you don’t have company, do you?” you asked, as he opened the window the rest of the way, and glared down at you.

“No,” he said pointedly, “and I wasn’t expecting any. What are you doing?”

“I missed curfew. I’m locked out,” you whined, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. 

“Huh, she really did it,” he said, with mild surprise.

“I know! I saw your light on. Can I come in?”

He sighed, looked put out.

“I can’t feel my toes,” you pleaded. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, reaching an arm out for you. “Here.” You took hold of his hand, swung a boot up onto the sill, and let him hoist you inside. It was a bigger drop than you expected, and you stumbled onto the floor. “You’re drunk,” he said, lifting you to your feet.

“Would’ve frozen to death an hour ago if I wasn’t,” you replied, kicking off your boots. He reached behind you and shut the window, then double-checked the lock on his bedroom door. “Were you sleeping?” you asked, glancing at his unmade bed. 

“Not exactly,” he said, moving quickly to put himself between you and the bed. You looked over his shoulder, spotted the _Hustler_ resting face-down on the bedspread, and looked back at him, stifling a laugh.

“Ohh,” you said, and he glowered. “Did I interrupt -”

“It’s fine,” he grumbled. He turned to put the magazine away, and smoothed the bedspread over the rumpled sheets. When he bent over, his jeans slid down a couple of inches, giving you a clear view of the nothing he was wearing underneath. 

“You might want to do up -” 

“Yeah, I got it,” he said, hiking the jeans up by the waist and fastening the top button. “You all finished?”

“Yes -” you started, and broke off into a fit of giggles. He glared, and crossed his arms. After the fit crested, you cleared your throat. “Yes,” you insisted. “I’m finished.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, the grin on your face almost under control. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said, and crossed over to you in two long strides. He grabbed the zipper on your coat and pulled. “How about instead of getting me less naked, we get you more naked?” You couldn’t see a reason why not. You smiled a different kind of smile, and your coat fell to the floor. Then he pushed the heel of his hand against the crotch of your jeans, and the smile fell altogether. He latched his lips onto your throat and kneaded his palm into your pussy, and your legs started to shake.

“Billy,” you breathed.

“Hmm?” he asked, without looking up.

“I’m gonna fall over.”

He chuckled. “All right, let’s get you on the bed.”

You landed hard on your ass, bounced, and let him pull your sweater off over your head before flopping backwards to lie down. He threw it over his shoulder and started on your belt buckle. The ceiling spun. “Where were you out drinking tonight?” he asked, sliding the belt out of its loops and dropping it.

“Jenny’s house, until her dad came home, and then we just went to the playground.”

“In the middle of winter? Sounds like a great time,” he said, unbuttoning your jeans.

“It was, until the cops showed up,” you said, lifting your hips so he could pull the jeans down.

He snorted. “They catch anybody?”

You shook your head. “We ran, and they were too lazy to get out of the wagon.”

“Such a badass,” he teased, yanking the cuffs off your feet.

“Oh, ‘cause you’re having such a big Friday night,” you snarked. 

He paused to shoot you a look. “You don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I had a date.” Then, shoving your legs up, “Move.”

You swung them onto the bed and shifted over to make room for him, setting your surroundings spinning again. “Couldn’t have gone that well,” you said, as he got on the bed next to you. “I know what I walked in on.”

“First of all,” he said, leaning right into your face, “that doesn’t mean shit. You know I’m good for multiples.” He gazed down at your body, stretched out in bra and panties on his bed, and bit his lip. “Second,” he said, brushing his fingertips along the top of your thigh, raising goosebumps, “I was reading it for the articles.”

You laughed. “With your pants down.”

“Incidental,” he said. He rolled on top of you, nudging your legs apart with his knees. 

“Sure,” you murmured, lifting your chin, trying to kiss him. He pulled back.

“You don’t believe me?”

You shook your head. “I do not.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll prove it.” 

He got up, and you rolled your eyes. “Just once, can we do this without an hour of chatter first?” you complained. 

He stopped, and frowned at you. “Don’t have to do this at all,” he warned. You stuck out your bottom lip, batted your eyelashes a little. He glared a few more seconds, and broke into a grin. “Well, if you’re gonna pout about it,” he muttered, and came around to hook his thumbs up under the sides of your panties and slide them down off your hips. Cool air hit wet skin, and you broke out in goosebumps again. He ran a palm up the length of your leg, licked his lips, and slipped two fingers up inside you. You raised your hips up a little, and moaned softly.

“You’re gonna have to be quiet,” he said, and curled his fingers up, hard, hitting your g-spot. 

You gasped sharply. “You’re the one who never shuts u-” He curled his fingers again, and again, and you lost your train of thought. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna work,” he said, and knelt between your knees, and and finger-fucked you in earnest. You squeezed your eyes shut, bit your lips, tried to concentrate on your breathing, but none of it worked, because what you really needed to do was scream. When it started to bubble over, in soft little whimpers that threatened to spill into sobs, he didn’t let up. He just climbed up over you, clamped his free hand over your mouth, and pressed his thumb into your clit.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” he whispered, grinning. “You’re a wreck.” You were in no position to argue. Your thighs started to tremble, and little pinpricks of light broke out across your vision, and you came, gushing. “Jesus,” he whispered, when your hips hit the bed again. He let go of your mouth, and flicked droplets off his other hand. “Remind me to put down a towel next time.” 

You heard him, and didn’t feel inclined to respond. The room was spinning again, only now, it felt good. “I’ll give you a minute,” he said, sounding a little smug about it. You stared up at the ceiling until it slowed and stood still, and your breath was something close to normal again.

“You learned that in a _Hustler_?” you asked, once you were verbal again.

“I did,” he agreed.

“Can I borrow it?” you asked. He laughed. 

“Then what would you need me for?”

“What makes you think I need you now?” you replied, and he just laughed again.

“That’d be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t just soaked my mattress,” he said, and climbed over you to get off the bed. You let your head fall to the side, and watched lazily as he kicked his jeans off,and his cock bobbed free. “You up for it?” he asked, looking back at you.

You nodded. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Atta girl,” he said, pulling out a drawer and grabbing a condom. “Thought maybe I broke you.”

You shook your head, and let your legs fall open, and sighed contentedly when he slipped inside. You rolled together, tongues and hips, until his rhythm broke, and you squeezed, and he came, panting into your ear. He rolled onto his back, and felt blindly for his cigarettes. “Pleasure doing business,” he said, and held out his lit smoke to you. You took a couple long drags and handed it back, enjoying not thinking for as long as it would last you.

After a couple minutes, he got up, butted out the cigarette, and padded over to his dresser. He pulled on a fresh pair of briefs, then went into the second drawer. He tossed something at you: a t-shirt, worn thin and gray with a thousand washes, the ghost of an AC/DC logo still haunting the front. “What’s this?” you asked, catching it.

He flicked a glance over. “To sleep in,” he said, an unspoken _obviously_ coming through loud and clear.

“Who says I’m sleeping over?” you replied.

“You’re locked out of your house, genius,” he said, going over to the window and pulling the curtain. “Where else are you gonna sleep?” You hadn’t forgotten, really, you just also hadn’t thought the thing all the way through. 

“Right,” you said, putting on the t-shirt and getting under the blanket. He got in next to you and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. 

A pillow was thrust in the general direction of your head, and you took it. “G’nite,” he muttered, turning so his back was to you. “Watch out for the wet spot.” 

“‘Nite,” you said, turning the opposite way. You closed your eyes and burrowed your cheek into the pillow. He shifted, resting one of his calves against one of your feet. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked. 

It wasn’t the first time or the tenth that you’d slept with him, but the only other time you’d _slept_ with him was lost to the void of a blackout You didn’t know why one should be so much more difficult than the other, you only knew it was. After ten wide-awake minutes, you turned over and pressed closer to the wall, putting an inch between the two of you. You shifted around, arm here, leg there, and tried to get comfortable. The clock kept ticking.

“Something wrong?” Billy muttered, on your third or fourth right-leg adjustment.

“Can’t sleep,” you said.

“Have you tried not moving every five seconds?” he asked sarcastically.

“Sorry,” you said, and made a conscious effort not to. You lasted maybe five minutes before a restless feeling crept up in your legs, and you tossed over again.

He sighed heavily. “You’re not gonna sleep,” he said, more an observation than a question.

“Guess not,” you admitted.

“All right,” he said, resigned. “Truth or dare.”

“What?”

“We’ve got a long night to kill if we’re not sleeping. Come on. Truth or dare?”

Coming from Billy, they both seemed like a trap. You came up on one elbow. “Dare,” you said, as curious as you were apprehensive.

“Excellent choice,” he said, and you could just hear the shit-eating grin on his face. “I dare you to let me stick it in your ass.”

“Game over,” you replied, without hesitation.

“What?” he complained.

“Game over,” you repeated, flopping onto your back. “I’m not playing.”

“Why not? . . . Do you think it’s too big to fit? Because I think if we used some Vaseline and just took our time -”

You threw an elbow, and caught him just below the ribcage. “Ow,” he said, breaking into laughter. “What was that for?”

“You’re disgusting.”

He laughed some more. “All right,” he conceded. “How about I let you pick _truth_ instead?”

“How about I said I’m not playing?”

“You need to learn to take a joke,” he said.

“You were not joking,” you replied.

“Sure I was,” he insisted.

“And if I’d said yes?”

“Whole new kind of game,” he said, and you huffed in distaste. “Come on, I’ll make it an easy one, I promise.”

You resisted, but curiosity won out again. “Fine,” you said. “Truth.”

“How many guys have you slept with?”

Reasonable enough. “Including you?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Three.”

“Interesting. Who was the best?”

“Uh-uh,” you said. “I answered the question. It’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he replied, and rolled onto his side to face you. 

The room was still dark, but you could see outlines now, and shadows. You considered, and settled on, “How many girls are you sleeping with right now?”

He chuckled softly. “Including you?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“One,” he said, and you scoffed.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m bragging about it,” he grumbled, “but I respect the rules of the game.”

You chuckled. “First time for everything, I guess.” 

“Very funny. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“You can pick _dare_ if you want, I’ll keep my vulgarity to myself this time.”

“I’ll stick with _truth_,” you said.

“As you wish,” he replied. Then, "What did he do to hurt you?"

Immediately, vulgarity seemed the better option. “Who?” you asked, more to stall than anything. 

“Well, somebody did something bad enough to make you swear off dating completely, and I figure it had to be either Number One or Number Two. So what was it?”

“Why would you care about that?” you asked, mostly to throw him off, but also because you genuinely didn’t expect him to.

“Maybe I don’t,” he said. “Maybe I’m just curious. Now, tell the truth.”

You rolled over, curled your knees in a little, took a deep breath. "He dumped me while I was in the hospital," you admitted. It was factually true, if lacking a little in context. 

Billy cut right to the heart of it, anyway. "Why were you in the hospital?"

You shook your head, already wishing you would have just lied. “I answered the question,” you said. “It’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

He thought a moment. “Dare,” he said, deliberately, somehow managing to make it feel like it was him daring you.

You grinned, happy both for the change of subject and the chance at revenge. “All right,” you said. “I dare you to go streaking.”

It almost impressed you how quickly he was up and out of bed. “Where to?” he asked, opening up the curtain. 

“Around the house,” you said, and watched him pull his briefs down in the moonlight.

He opened up the window, and a fresh icy draft blew into the room. “Too easy,” he said, and vaulted himself outside.

You got up and rushed over to the window, sticking your head out to see him headed around the front and not even running. He looked back over his shoulder at you. “Beautiful out here,” he whisper-shouted, grinning, before rounding the corner out of sight. You waited, giggling and shivering, until he appeared around the other side, looking maybe a touch pinker in places, but otherwise none the worse. 

“Gimme a hand,” he said, and took your arm to boost himself back inside. “Brought you something,” he added, and dropped a small fistful of snow down the back of your neck. It was everything you could do not to shriek, and he laughed and closed the window again as you shook the snow out of your shirt. He dove back into bed and cocooned himself in the blankets, lifting an arm to let you in when you were as dry as you were likely to get. He wrapped himself around you, and the chill on his skin gave rapid way to the furnace-heat beneath. 

“Why were you in the hospital?” he whispered, when his teeth stopped chattering, and the chill was altogether gone.

You tried not to tense up, sure he could feel it anyway, and carefully answered, “You didn’t say, _truth or dare_.”

“Fine, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me why you were in the hospital,” he said, and you huffed. “Come on, I want to know.”

You squirmed out of his arms and onto your back again, and he let you go. “No, you don’t,” you said, eyes on the ceiling. “Trust me.”

“Do you trust _me_?” he asked.

“_Fuck_, no,” you replied, laughing. 

He didn’t laugh with you. “You can. We’re friends.”

“Are we?”

“_Aren’t_ we?” 

You didn’t know what he was to you, truly, but the dreamy, post-drunk, fucked-out haze of 3:00am seemed as good a time as any to find out. You sighed, and let him have it. “I drank a bottle of vodka to wash down a bottle of aspirin,” you said quietly. “They pumped my stomach and kept me a couple days for observation.”

He was quiet for all of ten seconds, fifteen tops, but it felt like an age to you. “Shit,” he whispered at last, and you let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“How long ago?” he asked.

“Just about a year.”

“Are you -” he tried, then started over. “How are you now?”

You chuckled. “I believe _headcase_ was the word you used.”

“Right.” He rolled onto his back and laced hands behind his head. “So this douchebag -”

“Number Two,” you supplied. 

“- dumped you. While this was happening.”

“Over the telephone,” you finished.

“You want me to kill him for you?” he asked, sounding quite sincere about it.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Might not be necessary, but I guarantee it’ll be fun. Just give me a name, I’ll take care of it.”

“Good night, psychopath,” you said.

“You’ll feel better,” he continued. “_I’ll_ feel better.”

“Good night, Billy.” 

“Good night,” he grumbled, and rolled to face the wall.

You turned the opposite way. “It was you,” you murmured, settling in to the pillow with a handful of blanket tucked up under your chin.

“Huh?” he said.

“No contest.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

“You mean, I was the best? Is that what you’re talking about?”

You still didn’t answer. Instead, you fell asleep.


End file.
